


Midnight Snack (Working Title)

by Thalyra



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-08-30 21:45:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8550256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thalyra/pseuds/Thalyra
Summary: Scanlan is awoken from peaceful slumber, and what follows is neither of those things.Made entirely to cater to my own need for this pairing.Would like to hear what you think.





	1. A Midnight Snack

Scanlan stirs, giving a grumble as he shifts onto his back. In the dimness of his bedroom, he can just about make out his prone form in the mirrored ceiling. Bare, slightly-furred chest, pale skin. Curly (albeit less immaculate than usual) hair. He doesn’t exactly recall what caused him to awaken, but it seems to have stopped.

 

The gnome rolls onto his side, curling comfortably into the plush cushions that dominate his bed. He gives a pleased hum, eyes drifting shut before the room suddenly begins to rock, loud thumping emanating from his door. A spatter of curses roll from Scanlan’s mouth as he rolls out of bed, bare feet sinking into the expensive magically-constructed shag of his Marvelous Bedroom. 

 

On the long, at least comfortable walk to the door, tugging on a bedrobe, Scanlan considers what has lead to a presumably-drunken goliath hammering on his door in the early hours of the morning. At least the door is still standing, he muses. 

 

Scanlan reaches the door, the bard inching it open enough to allow a view of his unimpressed expression, tilted upward for easy viewing for a man of Grog’s height, along with a pale triangle of his chest, a few curls of hair trailing from the opening of his bedrobe.

 

“Grog, for the last time, we will do karaoke night another time my friend-”

 

The goliath dips suddenly, stepping into the door and lifting Scanlan from his feet. The gnome gives a surprised noise, between gasp and yelp, muffled by the two’s lips meeting. Scanlan’s nose wrinkles. Grog truly stinks of stale ale, and tastes even worse! His beard points jaggedly into Scanlan’s plush well-kept skin as the sudden kiss continues, and his too-large sandpaper tongue will not cease grinding into the bard’s own silver gift. Despite himself, the gnome lets out a hazy moan into the kiss, almost a keen. This is… new. Thought about, certainly. He was sure all of their group had the not-so-occasional queer thoughts, but Grog was certainly not a feature of his!

 

The kiss breaks, finally, and Scanlan feels himself back against his bed. A long trail of spit leads from his own parted, panting lips to Grog’s own, coarse and dwarfing him in every way. He looks up weakly, meeting the goliath’s gaze. Interestingly, Grog is watching him back, a self-conscious note to his usually intimidating glare.

 

“...Okay, that was… Well, you definitely surprised me…”

 

Scanlan gives a nervous laugh, letting it bleed into the air between the two and dissipate. The ragged breathing has not quite diminished, and the bard’s chest rises and falls as he sits on the bed before the other, trying to ignore the thrumming eagerness tenting the crotch of his bedrobe. At least until he works out what on Taldorei is going on…

 

“Look, there ain’t a whorehouse for miles, we’re out in the fucking desert, and half the group is busy with each other doing *fuck* knows what.”

 

Grog replies in almost a growl, but his gaze does not leave Scanlan. The gnome starts as he realises the gaze is not particularly directed at his face, either.

 

“We’re buddies, right? Figure I could say it was the drink if I got this whole shit wrong.”

 

The barbarian points out with a dull grin, stepping closer again. Scanlan, sat on the plush bed, does not move. He waits a few long, drawn-out seconds, attempting to make a decision, then parts his thighs just a little bit. Grog nods with some approval, and gives a broad-toothed grin, looming over the tiny gnome. Scanlan draws in a short breath, unsure of what to expect. Relatively low on his list of possibilities is the goliath’s larger head dipping between his legs, one huge grey hand slipping aside the folds of his bedrobe with surprising deftness.

 

The cool air is enough to make Scanlan murr in his current state, full-mast and twitching lightly. Grog smirks, meeting his flustered gaze with his hardness between them.

 

“Yeah. Figured I’d be right too.”

 

Scanlan breathes in sharply, thighs slamming into Grog’s thick skull as his broad, flat tongue laps up the underside of his yearning rod. His near-panting turns to a small whimper from the slight touch, and Scanlan watches with some interest as a few pearly-white globules of swirling precum trail over his friend’s saliva-glazed tongue. The gnome is rendered speechless, a bemused smile playing across his face as he tries his best not to release from such a sight...


	2. A Mid-Morning Snack

It's really, really hard to keep a relationship, no matter how hastily-made, quiet. When you have five practically-siblings beneath the same (albeit enormous, Marvelous) roof, it is nearly impossible. Scanlan was finding that this issue was further made prominent by the fact that he was struggling to keep his new squeeze quiet at all. From the night Grog had crashed into Kiki, each of them crossing the corridor in a half-drunken, half-lustful stupor to their respective lovers' rooms, to the sudden and entirely unexpected retirement of his beloved bed (now magically-reconstructed, a little more... braced), Scanlan was a little overwhelmed by this odd, clumsy relation between his fine self and the uncouth, shouty, less-than-bright although often-insightful Barbarian. By this point, this ridiculous stage of events, even whilst the world comes crashing down around them and Dragons rake the skies, the bard was still surprised he has not received a visit from the resident love guru Vex'ahlia. Surprised and grateful, of course. He is not entirely sure what he and Grog are doing, why he occasionally wakes up stinking of Goliath bed-breath or why they've both ceased their frequent shared hobby, but Scanlan is currently not complaining.

For one, Scanlan's mouth is currently rather occupied. His nostrils flare and he strokes quickly against the broad member before him. His lithe tongue curls against and grinds into throbbing flesh, and a rather humiliating little slurp echoes around the room. Grog grunts beneath him, bucking his hips and trying not to damage the room, the furniture, or the gnome beneath him. His movements are frantic, despite relatively little attention, and he humps the air needily, even when Scanlan pulls away for breath. 

He pants bestially, his gaze fixated on the smaller male as Scanlan sits in the other's lap, Grog's thick legs hanging off the edge of the bed. A cocky smirk across his immaculate teeth does little to dissuade the frustration Grog feels, the eagerness to rage, ruin the room, ruin his lover, stretch him across the bed and use him as little more than a toy... Grog shuts his eyes, and begins to thrust again, giving a small whine. Hoping to get the message across. Scanlan gives a small huff of amusement.

"Grog, for the last time, I know you are not inclined towards the arcane, but how do you feel about a certain magic word? If you truly want relief~?"

Scanlan's cooing, mocking voice rolls from his lips. Smooth as silk. The huge form of the goliath beneath him tenses at each and every word, his swollen prick twitching before him shamelessly.

"Hggh.... ghhh... ghhh... PLEASE."

Grog's aching growl stumbles out in reply, thick hand gripping one of Scanlan's thighs eagerly, desperate for release. 

A note of approval, barely a hum, from the bard, and he begins to stroke and kiss and caress the slick Goliath meat once again. The air of Scanlan's opulent room has blossomed with the arousing, intoxicating musk from his larger lover for more minutes than Grog can count, despite his grumbles and growls, protests and outright threats, however teasing. Scanlan seems less than concerned, happy to tease the still-squirming man.

"Hggghh... Scan-fucck-scanlan... just let me squirt, alright..?" 

The goliath's voice rumbles out again, squeezing on his thigh just a little insistently, and as if a penny drops somewhere in his head, Scanlan begins to stroke faster and faster, kissing and biting and nibbling and grinding his tongue into the throbbing, aching member, precum beading from the huge tip and blossoming from it messily, coating the bedsheets as Grog's orgasm builds with the growling in his throat. When Grog climaxes, he does so hard, painting the bedsheets, the floor and Scanlan himself in warm, thick, pale-white spunk, scenting the air and requiring the second bath of the day for Scanlan. When you rely on your looks as much as a bard does, it is unsurprising that cleanliness is paramount. 

Grog, clean, slinks out, as much as a Goliath may slink. His stealthy exit follows a brief kiss on the forehead of Scanlan as he dips into warm water, unseen servants passing harmlessly around and through them. Scanlan gives an amused smile, licking his lips clean from the tub as he watches Grog go. Another hangover or long training session for Grog, he assumes, and another night of research into charismatic technique for him, at least to the group.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I'm not great at... updating.
> 
> Would it be interesting if they were found out? I don't know where this is going bar occasional interest in smut for me.

**Author's Note:**

> What do you think?  
> I'm unsure if the pairing is as uncommon as I perceive, or that I do not check the right places.  
> Regardless, more will probably come, at some point.


End file.
